


Heroes and dragons and kings, oh my!

by Whit Merule (whit_merule)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, Dragons, Fluff, M/M, Sabriel Fluff Friday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whit_merule/pseuds/Whit%20Merule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel adopts a baby dragon. Which everybody else thinks is a lizard. Especially the big tall handsome broody hero Sam. But Gabriel BELIEVES.</p><p>Aka, a <i>Galavant</i> fusion, hoorah!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes and dragons and kings, oh my!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sabriel Fluff Friday one-year anniversary, to a prompt from [casandsip](http://casandsip.tumblr.com/) asking for Gabriel adopting a baby dragon.

Sam ran his hair through his perfect hero locks, and pinched the bridge of his perfect hero nose.

“One more time,” he said, very patiently. “You sold the priceless jewel of Valencia for _what_?”

Gabriel cradled his new baby in his hands and stroked its back tenderly. “For a dragon! Can you believe it? Imagine how our foes will run before us! Rar! Rarr! Well, I mean—once he grows a little.”

“I—” Sam began, then shook his head. “Nope. Nope, I can’t. Cas, you tell him.”

Sam and Dean’s squire peered down at the creature in Gabriel’s hand, and squinted his eyes solemnly. He looked at it from every angle, as if he was honestly _trying_ to see a dragon. But in the end:

“Gabriel,” he said awkwardly. “That’s a lizard.”

“I’m going to call him SLEIPNIR,” declared Gabriel. “A name that evokes _valour_ , and _bravery_ , and _strength_ what do you think?”

He beamed at Sam.

“I think you’re a complete idiot,” growled Sam, “and you’re taking it back. You do realise that without the jewel I have no army, and without an army I have no chance of rescuing Dean?”

“But you have a dragon!” protested Gabriel.

Sam threw his hands into the air. “You know what? I’m done. I’m going to find the giants. Come on, Cas.”

Gabriel stared at him, wounded. “Without me?”

“I’m tired of this shit, _King_ Gabriel. I am tired of cleaning up your messes. I am tired of pretending it isn’t your fault because, guess what, it _always is_. I’m tired of your jokes, and your singing, and the way you always take more than half the bedroll even though you’re half my size, and I’m tired of the way your eyes always sparkle when you—ahem. I’m just tired of _you_ , okay?”

“Sam, I think that’s a little harsh,” said Castiel reproachfully. “Gabriel was... just trying to help.”

“The perfect pair: a dragon who isn’t a dragon and a king who isn’t a king,” Sam grumbled, and stomped away.

Gabriel cradled the dragon to his chest, and looked woefully at Castiel. Castiel tried to look sympathetic, but there was disappointment in his face, which was worse.

“He _can_ breathe fire,” Gabriel muttered to himself, when it was just him and his dragon. “You can, can’t you, Sleipnir? They’ll see!”

 

***

 

“What will we do for the tournament entry fee?” Sam hissed. “We’ve got _no money_. That is literally why we need me to win the tournament!”

“You could do lapdances at the pub for one night,” said Gabriel helpfully. “You’d probably make more money than all the tournament prizes put together.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and blushed a little. “We _could_ sell that dragon of yours.”

Gabriel cuddled Sleipnir, and glared without answering.

Castiel sighed loudly, and walked up to the tournament organisers to declare that this was _Sir Sam Winchester_ and, on merit and reputation, he ought to be advanced straight to the finals; and that, moreover, once word got around, they’d draw twice the crowd they’d anticipated, so they should be paying _him_ to participate.

“... that’ll never work,” said Gabriel in awe.

It worked.

 

***

 

Gabriel gulped, and drew the Sword of the One True King.

“Sam,” he said. “I’m going to go and speak to Queen Kali. I _may never return_. Would you... would you hold my dragon for me?”

Sam opened his mouth. Then he closed it again, and drew Gabriel into a hug (carefully, because you don’t want to take a sword to the guts more than once per season). “Yes, Gabriel,” he said, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll hold your dragon.”

 

***

 

Baldur, the Wedding Planner of the Dark Dark Evil Way (DDEW), sneered at Sleipnir.

“That’s a lizard!” he said, and slapped Gabriel’s hand aside with his Dark Dark Evil Staff.

Sleipnir sailed through the air and connected with a rock with a sickening crunch.

“Nooooooo!”

Gabriel charged.

 

***

 

“Gabriel! You made it!”

Sam swept Gabriel up into his arms, bloody and dusty from the battlefield but laughing. Gabriel wrapped his arms around him and clung without shame. Then he saw Dean looming behind his brother, and flung himself at Dean too, because sue him, he liked hugs.

“Ooof,” said Dean, and patted his back. “Yeah, yeah. Probably good you’re still alive. Dumbarse.”

“And,” said Sam, grinning madly, “look who I found!”

It was Sleipnir. He wasn’t dead. He was blinking around, looking groggy.

“I think he misses you,” said Sam.

“Merp,” said Sleipnir—and belched out one tiny little finger-curl of flame.

“That’s my baby dragon boy,” crooned Gabriel, and cuddled him to his chest.

 

***

 

“My precious baby’s first growth spurt!” beam Gabriel, and held out the rabbit’s liver. Sleipnir, now about the size of a cat with very short legs, stretched out his lengthening neck and nipped it gently from his fingers. Then he pinned it down with one paw, and slightly singed it.

“Look at you,” said Gabriel. “You almost missed your paw that time! Good job, boy.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” said Sam fondly from the door, “but you and that damn _lizard_ are almost cute together.”

Gabriel pointed at him. “He’s a dragon, Winchester.”

Sam winked. “No more a dragon than you are a king.”

“I cried for _weeks_ after you said that,” opined Gabriel. “ _Weeks_.”

“You did not.”

“I could have!”

“Mm,” said Sam, coming forward and hooking a finger into Gabriel’s belt. “How long would you have to cry for if I said you take my breath away when you look at me with your eyes dancing like that? or that you’ve got a kind of bravery I’ve never met before and took too long to learn to recognise? or that I do actually like the way you sing?”

“Hm.” Gabriel tried to look pensive, but it was difficult because he was too busy getting his hands in under Sam’s shirt and grinning like an idiot. “Probably about as long as you’d have to weep like a baby if I told you all the poems I’ve composed to your butt.”

“Okay,” said Sam, nuzzling in against his cheek. “Okay. We’ll have to test that out then. For, you know, science.”

“For science,” Gabriel agreed solemnly, and kissed him.

 


End file.
